Monster
by Thalia Stormwind
Summary: Love is pain. I know that now. Getting seduced by an enchanting creature, handing your heart over to a slip of a girl, it's rapture wrapped in a vervain glove. Save her, bid her farewell, or walk away. "You're a monster," she spits. "I don't ever want to be like you." That's right, I'm a monster, and she'll hate me forever. D/E Oneshot Warning!- Dark! Damon, sex/violence.


Madness. That's all it could be. Something in her Gilbert heritage had finally reared its ugly head and struck her insane. That is all, the only way… the _only _way I could even _begin _to explain why she wouldn't… why she would just let herself. Die.

Not once, but _twice._

Not for the first time, I have a sneaking suspicion that the newest doppelgänger has a death wish.

_Idiot._ I don't know why I even care, any more. I don't know why I'm standing out on her postage-stamp sized lawn, staring up at her bedroom window, trying to figure out if I'll ever get the guts together to say _goodbye_ to her or if I'm going to storm in there, all fire-and-brimstone-like with a bag of blood, a funnel, and some duct tape to MacGuyver her into full-blown undeath.

And come on, seriously? How many times am I going to try to rush in and _save_ her from her newest in a long line of hair-brained kamikaze schemes? Shouldn't the first time have told me something? Or the second? What kind of a vampire would that make her? She'd walk out into the sun the first chance she got.

She made her choice. She's always the one making choices, and damn everybody else. And DAMN Stefan for not fighting them.

Damn me for being such a coward.

She's broken my heart into tiny pieces more often than given me a reason to stay. And yet I do. I let the walls down. She plays hopscotch with my insides, and still I keep letting her in. I should just let her die and spare myself an eternity of picking my dick up out of the dirt every time she knocks it there.

Really, I should.

So, which way to go, I wonder? Say goodbye? Force her hand and make sure she'll hate me forever, but _live_ to do so? Or run away and hide like a sissy little bitch until I know it's over?

Tick-tock, tick-tock. While I stand out here and agonize, she's in there. Dying. I could be spending her last moments with her, holding each second close to my heart to keep it warm for the rest of my miserable existence. I know she said she wanted to be alone, that she didn't want anyone to be there, even tossed Baby Gilbert out into the cold so she wouldn't be _tempted_ into biting him.

To hell with what Elena wants. I'm not going to factor that into my decision. It's not like she's ever spared _me _that consideration. So why should I? She'll be dead by morning and I'll never see her again. She can be mad at me all she wants, for the rest of her short little life, but I'm not doing anything for her.

Not any more.

So, it turns out that I _can_ be selfish with her. _Huh._

And, yeah. Turns out that even though I don't deserve her, neither does Stefan. Otherwise it would be him standing out here or storming in there and trying to jam some reason into her head 'til her very last breath. She deserves somebody who would do that for her, no matter what a self-sacrificing and infuriating bitch she can be. That adorable, confusing, annoying, vindictive, bewitching creature in there is a bundle of contradictions, a mystery I would have loved to take the next few lifetimes figuring out, better and more full of potential than ten of me and my brother put together. But she chose him, anyway. _It's always going to be Stefan._

Here's the eternal question. Just _how_ selfish am I going to be? If it's all about what I want, then what's stopping me from going in there and getting what I've _always_ wanted before it's gone for good? I could make her last moments a living hell for leaving. I could charm or guilt or force my way into her pants if I tried hard enough. She owes me that much, I figure. Without any consequences to face ('cause she'll be dead, moron) it shouldn't be that hard to convince her. Nobody would know but me. At the very least, I could return that deathbed kiss. I could do all kinds of things by way of making my farewells, possibly get her far enough out of my system to think for a second I could really let her go.

_Save _her, bid her farewell, or walk away. Can't do them all. Have to decide which one before I go up there, because one look into her big, brown doe-eyes and I'll be lost. I don't know what I'll do, then. Gotta have a plan in place to fall back on when she destroys me again. One look is all it would take.

So, no running away to hide and nurse my sorrows in a bottle of bourbon, because I have to see her one last time. I have to feel her pierce my soul and tear my will asunder. I know I'll never feel the like of it, I'll never let anyone in that deep again. She's it for me. Once smitten, twice shy. Twice burned, afraid of fire forever.

Love is pain. I know that now. Getting seduced by an enchanting creature, handing your heart over to a slip of a girl, it's rapture wrapped in a vervain glove. It's a stake piercing just a little outside of the heart right when you're about to shoot your load, and then you come anyway because there's no stopping it. It doesn't kill you, but you think it just might, if you have any more of it. If you let it get in one little bit farther. If you breathe. Love is the razor's edge of oblivion.

I have to try to get her to see sense. I just _have _to. 'Cause if I don't, I'll always wonder if I might have been the one thing that was able to pull her back from the brink.

Did I hallucinate, or did her window just open?

Did she do that for me? Can she tell I'm standing out here? Does she even know I exist?

The fuck am I doing, standing out here? What am I waiting for, an invitation? I've already gotten that.

A breath, and I'm there, seated at the window, just inside on the padded box beneath. In an instant, I seek out and find her. It's not hard, because she's sitting on the edge of her bed, ankles and arms crossed. I take her all in. She's dressed for comfort. Too well, I know how the skin gets so over-sensitized toward the end, that harsh fabrics grate like sandpaper. A navy camisole a size too big, soft and grayed from a thousand washes, charcoal drawstring workout pants that used to be black hang a little low on her hips, that damned familiar gauzy long sweater jacket, left untied, and her customary chucks adorning her feet. So like Elena to die in a fashion travesty. And yet, she's perfect.

"Took you long enough," she says, utterly confounding me.

"You knew I was coming?"

"Don't you always?" She shrugs. "I was starting to get worried you'd never show."

"I wasn't sure if I would be welcome," I admit, my brow doing an impressive approximation of my brother's near-constant furrow.

"Never stopped you before," she quips and goes silent.

"You wanted me to come," I accused. "Why else would you open the window?"

"Yes, I… hoped you would. Is that what you wanted me to say?"

"I only want the truth," I bite out and stand. "For _once_ just give me that."

She stays and sits, looking so defeated and oh so lost. "I don't know what that is."

"_Sure _you do. You're just afraid to give it."

"So,_ tell_ me, Damon. If you've got it so figured out, what is the truth? When have you even bothered to give it without taking it all away?"

Now I'm stumped. I have no clue what she's talking about. "What?"

"_I just have to say something," _she says, standing and advancing on me, a fiery angel in all her wrath. _"You just need to hear it." _I let her come, secure in the knowledge that she couldn't hurt a fly right now, if she tried. There was _nothing_ she could do to me right now that would be any worse than what she'd already done. She trembles before me, whether with rage or with weakness, I can't say. Tears brim in her eyes and I am nearly undone.

"_I love you, Elena. And it's because I love you that I can't be selfish with you," _she continues, and I hear my own words, shot back at me in anger. I'm speechless. I can't breathe as she continues on in her tirade, a parody of all the things I'd said to her, standing in this very room. _"And why you can't know this. I wish you didn't have to forget this. But you do. _Sound familiar?_"_

"I…."

"Care to get anything _else_ off your chest before I'm gone?"

"You…"

_"You want a love that consumes you. You want passion and adventure, and even a little danger... I want you to get everything you're looking for. But for right now, I want you to forget that this happened," _she grits out. "I met you first. You let me ramble on about how much I couldn't think about tomorrow, and maybe, just maybe if you'd come into my life a little earlier than he did, how it all could have been different. You made me forget everything. Were you ever going to _tell _me?"

"I _did _tell you. And you said it was the problem."

"Not that you loved me, but that you _messed with my mind!_"

"I… don't know. Some day. Or maybe never."

"How much was real, Damon? How much was your compulsion? Did you _make_ me feel this way for you? Did you _compel_ me to find what you said I was looking for, with you?"

"No, Elena! Only to forget. I never made you do anything else, I swear."

"Bastard." She mutters. She slaps me, a kitten pawing at a string, but I let her. I don't move a muscle. "You bastard!" she screams and is trying her level best to attack me. I feel her blows, glancing and ineffectual. They could be caresses for all I can tell. Shocked doesn't begin to cover what I'm feeling now. "I cared about you, Damon! I cared even though it made no sense, even though you killed and killed and it killed me inside and I couldn't figure out _why _you crawled under my skin. Do you have any idea how crazy that made me?" she entreated, holding up her hands in supplication. "Do you?"

I take her delicate hands and hold them against my chest. "What are you afraid of, Elena? Why are you so willing to die just to run away from it?"

"I won't be HER! I can't be her!" Her tears are breaking me. I stroke her fragile, human skin and am quiet as she sobs. "If I let myself love you, what kind of person does that make me?" she whispers brokenly.

"For what it's worth, Elena, you'll never be Katherine. You're too good to be her." I try to get her to see, to understand, though I can tell my conviction isn't getting through.

"Am I? Am I _really_? Because from where I'm standing, it doesn't look that way," she whispers, and I can hear the dry fatigue in her every breath. She pulls away from me, and I let her hands fall, slipping out of my grasp. I watch her walk away, holding her elbows, hugging herself when I wish I had the will to do it for her. I have to be strong, have to fight her word-for-word.

"She chose this. You didn't. It's that simple," I insist, dividing the two with sharp chops of the air.

She turns back to me, giving me that heart-melting look she seems to keep on file just for when she's about to crush my hopes and dreams. "And that's is why I'm not going to transition."

She's _killing _me. "I already told you. You're not _allowed_ to make decisions any more."

"It's _my life, Damon!_ Mine! It's my choice to make!"

"Every bad thing that happens, ever, is because of your 'choices'," I bite out, trying not to give into the easy slide into raving. "You've only lived a tiny blip on the radar. You're an _infant_, Elena! You don't have the life experience to make these kinds of decisions."

"If I'm an infant, then what does that make you?" she asks me coldly. The chill is worse than any slap she could ever deliver.

I glare at her across the space that divides us. "So that's it? You just don't want to be martyred, you want to _choose_ to be? I can't believe that. Why open your window, Elena?"

"To say goodbye."

"Why only to me? Why wait for _me _to come and give you your last farewell?"

"Because, you're not the worst company in the world, Damon." She shrugs, the easy motion coming off as stilted. Her joints must be killing her. It hits me that she really _is _going to die. Her body is shutting down right before my eyes. A slow, painful death. Her smile is tentative, a shadow of the teasing, easy banter we used to share. The reminder of our first road trip lances right through me, and I'm crying like a little baby. Intentions? Meet window. Now, out you go. Buh-bye.

I go to her, a broken mewling thing, and fall to my knees before her. Any pride or self-possession I once had is laid at her feet. I bury my face in her middle, clutching at the achingly downy soft fabric of her jacket, holding on for dear life as I beg, "Don't die, please don't die. I'll go away, I will, I'll leave you in peace, just _please _don't make me live in a world that doesn't have you in it."

She chokes up, threading fingers in my hair, holding me to her, a balm for a wound that will never heal. "That's not what I want, Damon. Not at all."

"Whatever you want, I'll do it. I'll be good. I'll help angels get their wings, just please don't…"

"I _can't_," she cries, falling, too. I catch her because she has nowhere else to go. I'm gripping her tightly in my arms while she's practically straddling my lap. There is nothing sexual about it and isn't that just pathetic? "You're hurting me," she whimpers, and I loosen my hold. "Not there, but in here," she says, rubbing a hand over her chest where her heart beats sluggishly.

I pull enough wits together to reach for her face through the blur of my tears, to tangle my fingers into her long, dark tresses. "Yeah, well, you're hurting me, too," I whimper back. "Payback's a bitch."

"I'm always hurting you," she murmurs. "Once I'm gone, it'll get better. _You'll _get better," she insists.

"No. I won't." The breath catches in my throat. "If you're gone, I'll have no reason to be better. You're the only one who's been able to bring that side out of me."

"So be bad and good. Be you, be both. I know you can. I'm not trying to turn you into Stefan. _I like you now_."

I can hear all kinds of things in the way she utters that last, unforgettable phrase. I know she wants me to kiss her, or at least I'm relatively sure. But I won't. I won't give her that last kiss, because I know it will be the final straw and I'll be completely destroyed. Instead, I hold her still, one tiny flicker of hope giving way to another and another, and a plan is forming. "You want me to be the bad guy?"

The mad gleam in my eye must have told her I was about to do something I knew she didn't want, because she stiffens. "Damon, don't."

"You want to choose to be a martyr, but you want me to be the bad guy," I reiterate, trying to get it through her head just how insane that was, and what exactly that would entail. Forget it. I'm done listening to her, remember? I'm done trying to get her to agree to anything. It's a very good thing that I've come prepared. She's dying, and I've brought the one thing that will save her, just what the doctor ordered.

I thumb the cap off the test tube of O-pos I had stashed in my pocket, and she struggles to get away as the smell hits her. She squints her eyes closed and turns her face away, her jaw trembling with the force of how she's clamped her lips shut when she realizes that I'm not letting her go and she doesn't have enough strength to make me. Her hand comes up to strike the thing away the instant it gets near her. I knock the blood back into my own mouth, holding it there and forbidding myself to swallow. Everything depends on my ability to not swallow. The tube goes clattering somewhere across the floor.

I move in swiftly and kiss her, and it's like the first time I kissed her all over again. Her eyes fly wide in shock. She's pushing at me and I'm pulling at her, only this time I'm not going to back off. Her struggles won't do anything, and no matter how much the rejection hurts me, I won't let it stop me. Getting her to kiss me back isn't the goal, but getting the blood inside her is crucial. Her kissing me back would just be a perk.

I use my weight to lever her onto her back on the floor. She grunts and punches her fists against my chest, but I'm not letting up. All I need is one little opening, one tiny gasp from her to get her lips to part and gravity will do the rest. Her hair wound like a silken rope through my fingers, I hold her in place as I reach for the hem of her camisole. Her struggles grow frantic, her nails bite into my arms. I feel the sting, the slick slide of my own life's blood welling up beneath the punctures.

Smooth skin quakes under my touch. She makes me pay for every last inch I gain upward with the raking of her nails in my arm, but I'm in no hurry. Her pulse is accelerating with the fight. I hope that's a good thing.

The soft swell of her breast bumps up against my fingertips. I stroke at the silky flesh and feel her clawing falter, watch her eyes roll back and slip closed. The whole time, they'd been glaring at me with a heat like hatred, the look I'd seen far too many times to count, so what was once more? I find the turgid peak of a nipple, wiggle my fingers over and around it and hear her groan behind lips still closed to me. _Hmm. Not shocking enough for you, Elena? _I give the nipple a hard tug. Her hips buck, her claws convulse, and she squeaks in surprise. The sound is muffled, but I'm pretty sure it's a squeak. Intrigued, I try it again, and feel her body temperature rise as a blush cascades over her cheeks. The flesh beneath my hand begins to shiver, and what seemed like an easy way to get her to open her mouth is looking to be a long endeavor. I can't shock her into doing it. I'm going to have to get her to lose control.

I stroke lower, skimming her stomach with the backs of my fingers. Her head gives a nearly imperceptible shake as I untie the drawstring of her pants and she makes an animal sound of fear in the back of her throat. I settle my fingers at the waistband of her pants and pause to see if she's paying close attention. Her eyes drift open again, that adorable blush still there, staining her cheeks, and I meet them with dire significance. I exert just the slightest bit more pressure with my lips, wordlessly commanding her to open. Open and drink her medicine and I'll stop.

Wild eyes locked on mine, she shakes her head, "_Mmm-mm!"_

I nuzzle her lips with my own, humming an upward note. _Are you sure?_

_"Mmm-MM!"_ She reiterates. I growl, frustrated with her stubbornness. I never wanted it to have to go this far, but the monster in me is delighted with the challenge. I grip and yank the waistband wide and far away from her body as it can go, shoving and ripping fabric out of my way, even as she scrambles to drag it back. I bat her hands away none-too-gently and continue on to make short work of her panties. The fabric disintegrates with a sharp tug. She tries to jam her knees together, but my legs are in the way. The heat that pours off her core is incendiary, but I'm in no mood to enjoy it. This is grim work. I _never_ wanted to haver her like this, not by force; a fact that's confirmed by my utterly flaccid rag of a cock.

Newly aware that Elena seems to have a bit of a kinky streak, I palm the flesh between her legs with a bit more force than strictly necessary. I know I'm taking out my anger on her, but she seems to like it. Her eyes flutter closed at my rough touch. Her face is transformed with the wince of pleasure-pain, the sound she makes in the back of her throat is equal parts sexual desire and mortification. Her heart is going like a freight train and her body temperature is skyrocketing. Wetness gathers and seeps from her center, slick and inviting. Just as well. _Somebody _aught to be enjoying this. I'll let my fingers do the walking and maybe be able to look at myself in the mirror some day. The heady aromatic cocktail of fear mingling with arousal hits me, making my head swim and prompting a reaction from my body against my will, but I'm used to keeping a tight lid on my physical urges, especially around Elena, and right now I'm resisting the urge to swallow the blood, throw away any last shred of decency I possess, and just fuck her into senselessness on the floor.

I circle her opening with two fingers, gathering moisture and slide it up, over and around her clit before returning to repeat the process. Each touch on that electrified bundle of nerves sends a jolt clear through her, until she's shaking with the effort of trying to hold her body's responses in check. She tries so hard not to give in, a valiant effort, really, but I've got more tricks up my sleeve than Harry Houdini and a supernatural set of abilities to match. Vampire speed has its uses. I give her the slow buildup, but all too soon, my fingers are flying over heated skin, until she can't contain the rocking and tilting of her hips, the primal urge, begging to be fulfilled.

And _still_, her lips remain clamped shut. Her moans come out muffled from a jaw clenched tighter than a steel trap. Fed up with her stubborn, pig-headed refusals, I stop moving just as she's approaching the edge of climax. Her squeak of protest would be comical, if not for how dire the situation is. Her eyes fly open once more, confusion floating up through the haze of a sexual high. I nuzzle my lips against hers once more. "Mmm," I hum on a downward note. (Open up and I _won't _stop.)

_"Mmm?" _I get the business end of her 'Are you freaking kidding me?' look. I tap her clit, once, twice, then stop again. I'm not kidding. Her eyes plead with me to end it, but my resolve stands firm. She glares, trying to get across that she will hate me for this, forever.

If she thinks making me give up any chance of her forgiveness is going to keep me from doing everything and anything I can do to keep her alive, she's got another thing coming. I'm not Stefan. Being the bad guy won't make me unable to live with myself, only letting her die will do that. She trembles on the edge of that realization. She knows I still haven't taken off the kid gloves, that I'll break her jaw if I have to, that I'm not going to call it quits just because it will make it all easier on her. I monitor her pulse closely, tap her clit in time with the beating of her heart once it slows. Can't make it too easy for her to think, now can I? That would defeat the purpose. She's only playing the short game, biding her time until she's dead. I'm playing for the long haul.

Her eyes dart from side to side. I can tell she's trying to think how in hell she's going to get out of this. I see her understanding that I can keep her like this indefinitely, that she'll die in torment, unable to come. She has no idea how long she has left, and frankly neither do I. Could be minutes or hours. I was dead serious about making her last moments a living hell if it came down to it.

She swallows reflexively, gives a short moan and another wince as I run my fingers over and around her slicked nub teasingly. Her breathing hitches and accelerates, but it's not because of me. Whatever is running through that sex-drenched brain of hers must be something big and scary, because she's almost in a panic. Her eyes are scrunched shut again and silent tears fall from the edges.

Her trembling hands leave my forearm and hover, suspended between us. Desire kicks me hard in the gut and curls around my spine when I feel them fumble at my belt buckle. Half-flaccid flesh turns to rebar with a dizzying rush of blood. I grasp the strands of her hair caught in my grip harder and give her head a little shake. _What are you doing, Elena? _

Undeterred, she gets the thing unfastened. Leather slides through denim loops on a singing whine. Metal clatters on wood. A pinch and a twist and she's gotten the button free while I'm frozen above her, trying to figure out her game. The vibration of little teeth parting as she pulls the metal tab down. Her tiny hand shifts denim aside to find the buttoned front of my boxer-briefs, slipping that free, too. Soft as a sigh, her skin surrounds me and I want to explode right there. Zero-to-sixty in under ten seconds. Hesitantly, she begins to slide her hand up and down, from root to crown, then gains some hint of boldness in her movements.

She holds me, captivated, in her hand. Her inexperience is showing, but what she lacks there, she makes up for in being Elena. Fire dances in her eyes, still clouded with lust. They watch me, eager to see how I'm affected, gauging my decent into mindlessness.

_All right, Elena, if that's your game, fair enough. We'll spend the night in sweet torture, together, but I promise you, you won't win._

Still, she surprises me again, tugging my clothing away with her unoccupied hand. Soon, I'm as naked and vulnerable as she is from my waist to my knees, and I've yet to figure out why. Her soothing touch teases me, stroking and caressing me, until she strikes. Pain blossoms outward from my testicles as she grips them and stars explode in my vision. Blood wells between my suddenly slack lips as a groan of agony I can't hold back forces its way outward. I almost forget to hold onto what blood is left, as I clumsily fall to the side in the fetal position. Nausea swallows me whole and I'm doing my level best not to retch.

I glance up as she scrambles to her feet. Face smeared with blood, she glares coldly down at me. "You're a monster," she spits. "I don't ever want to be like you."

I bless my vampire-given accelerated healing, even as I'm speeding up and off the floor. The dull throb in my balls is still there, but I'm far from incapacitated. My pants catch around my ankles, tripping me up and I'm falling forward, but not before I grab her and take her down with me in a tangle. She screams. The breath whooshes out of her as the bed stops her momentum and she stops mine. The kid gloves are definitely off, now.

My eyes vein out as I grab her jaw and force it open, and spit the rest of the blood inside her mouth. She sucks in a breath through anger-flared nostrils, growls in defiance and tries to spit it back, but I seal my lips over hers and slide my tongue inside. Pain blossoms again as her knee catches me in my most vulnerable area, and she bucks at me wildly, trying to throw me off.

That's right, I'm a monster, and she'll hate me forever, but I'm making damn sure she'll be around that long to do it. I kiss her with punishing strokes of my tongue, tangle fingers into her hair, grab her tight to my chest and let her rail and fight like a wildcat. I feel her slip over the edge of surrender as I gentle myself, beguiling her with the passion that's always simmered between us, and suddenly she's clutching at me, kissing back. She swallows on a reflex, the mingled blood and saliva pooled in her mouth won't let her do anything else. Her hips lift up against me and I tremble as I hold myself back from taking that invitation to heart.

New strength blossoms through her limbs, fueled by desperation as much as the blood that got down into her system. Triumphant, I release her and fly backward off the bed to land on my feet. My boxers and pants are up and refastened when she sits bolt upright to stare at me with open mouth, horrified.

Veins branch from her eyes, blood smears her lips, her hair is in violent disarray and she's magnificent. "Why?" She demands of me, even as I head for the windowsill.

"You _know_ why," I retort, and send my hand reaching down the outside of the house. Keeping an eye on her, I grope for my 'backup plan', duct-taped securely to the siding just within reach. The I.V. bag of donor blood comes away easily in my grasp. It hits her leg with a crinkling smack as I toss it at her.

She picks it up, looking at me like I'd grown two heads. "You know I'll never forgive you for this."

"I was pretty sure of that, yeah," I counter as I cross my arms over my chest and watch her decide what to do next. "That wasn't the point."

"So, why?" she pleads, trying to understand.

My patience is at the breaking point. How many times does she have to hear me say it? How many ways can I show her that it's true before she actually believes it? Before I can think, I'm there, standing over her with my face a handbreadth away, fists balled on the bed on either side of her. "I love you, Elena, and I will do _anything, _sacrifice _anything_ to keep you alive. No one is more important to me than you. You get it, now? I'd die to protect you. I'll endure your eternal hatred to keep you in the world, but let me tell you something. Forever is a _long_ time to hold a grudge. If I can forgive my brother for what he did to me after a measly century-and-a-half, if I can be _civil_ with Katherine after she yanked out my heart and stomped on it, as bitter and cynical as I've become, if I can learn to let that go… well. Big-hearted girl like you? I wouldn't say never."

She stares up at me, doe eyes a-glistening and just as beautiful and heart-wrenching as ever, even with the veins. "That's not what I meant," she whispers.

I can't stand it any more. I shove off the bed and head for my exit. I pause, looking out at the night as I speak once more. "When my brother wants to thank me, tell him I said 'Don't mention it.' And if you ever get tired of bags and bunnies, you know who to call."

"Wait! Where are you going?" she cries out after me from the bed as I set a foot on the sill, ready to launch myself away.

"Stefan and I had a deal," I told her, "before you got turned. Whichever one of us you choose, the other will leave town so you can be together. You made your choice, Elena. Now we all have to live with it." I keep my face averted, muscles locked tight so I won't look back. I can't look back or I'll do something that I really _will _regret.

"Damon," she calls out, but I can't bear to hear it.

"Goodbye, Elena." I push off and I'm gone.

_Save _her, bid her farewell, and walk away. What do you know? Turns out I _can _do all three.


End file.
